Sherlock - Pink, Written by Dr J Watson
by Corey YoungBlood
Summary: Army Doctor Joann Watson returns to London less happy than when she left. Life has sped up in the few years she's been gone and has left her behind. Yet who knew that with the entrance of a sociopathic genius into her life, this young woman would once again grasp the horns of the bull and get her life more on track than war ever did for her. femWatson/Sherlock friendship.
1. Prologue - Nothing

**SHERLOCK - PINK, WRITTEN BY DR J WATSON**

**AN: **Hey, everybody. I am Corey YoungBlood and I have decided to write a Sherlock fanFiction, even when I am currently in the middle of writing a Merlin one. I thought, on the off-chance, and since I have been watching 'A study in Pink' on my box set I got for Christmas, I got into the mood to rewrite the episode the way I enjoy the most. By writing one of the mains as a girl. Not as is a romance, at least not yet. I know that changing a character from one gender to the other can be like marmite, but truth be, you don't have to read if you don't like that sort of thing. Please review to this prologue and tell me what you think. And I also apologise for any mistakes I might have made with spelling or grammar. Enjoy. This is just a picture painter really :)

**BTW: **Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock or the characters except my own. Thank you.

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

_The noise was deafening. Guns went off everywhere. Manic shouts from men surrounded all around but almost invisible against the desert background. Loud sounds and fast movements disorientated the senses. The young woman on her second tour did not expect it to become her last. Flashing scenes of soldiers doing their duty literally exploded before her eyes. Kicking down doors, shooting into fields at the unseen enemy, hiding behind walls and crouching in long grass, yelling orders. Mudded faces and camouflage, padded chests, helmets that hugged the head too tight, firearm at the ready. All of it changed nothing._

_Pain. So much pain. Someone shouting her name. Shapes rushing around her blurred vision. The sound of gunfire still going on. Something was very wrong. A flash of white of the final explosion filled the young woman's ears... _and woke her with a start.

Joann shot up in bed in a sweat. The echoes of the last sounds heard from her dream fading out eerily in her head as she stared blankly ahead with washy blue eyes, focusing on getting her breathing under control. When it had evened out, she flopped back down on her pillow, one hand tightly clamped the material of her thick grey sweatshirt, and the other ran through her short-bob sandy blonde hair. As the memories of the dream came back to her, she screwed her eyes shut, whimpering.

She should have been used to it by now, she thought. She wasn't even near the action and yet in her head it was like it had followed her back to London. It all seemed like such a good thing a couple of years ago. Now look where it has got her. Waking up to screams and bombs going off every night, hasn't had a good sleep for as long as she could remember, a scar that will remain for as long as she lived, and a painful throbbing in her leg that gave her a bad limp that shouldn't even exist. And to add to it all, in the few years she had been away, despite still young, it had become very hard for Joann to get accustomed to life outside of what she should be glad to be discharged from. But it was too much to take sometimes.

Unable to get back to sleep, even if she wanted to, Joann Watson sat still on the edge of her bed in the near empty, dull, dark, depressing room in silence. Just thinking. About her past. Her future, The now. Her cane leant casually against the desk across the floor from her. Mocking her. No one could help. Not even a stupid blog... her blog. Bloody thing!

Few hours later, the sun was up. Joan walked over to the desk in her dressing gown, with her cane, cup of tea and breakfast (An apple. Appetite had been effected too), and sat down. She opened the drawer of the creaky old desk and fished her laptop out, plonking it down in front her. Underneath where the laptop had been, was a handgun. It wasn't until she lifted up the screen to reveal the blog page that she hesitated. '_The Personal Blog of Dr Joann H Watson_'.

Nothing. What to type? What _was_ there to type?

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

"How is your blog going?"

In another dull lifeless room that same day, Joann tensely sat across from the woman who was supposed to help her. Yet it has all been pointless so far. The only think that needed to be bashed out her head was the thought that her leg was unbearable to walk on without anything having hurt it. Like a therapist can understand what it's like to move through a big city and feel it's _too_ big and too small, too quiet and too loud at the same time.

"Yeah, it's good. Very good, going well" she answered unconvincingly.

"You have not written a word on it, have you?"

"No... You just wrote 'still has trust issues'."

The therapist looked down at the notes on her lap. "-And you still read my writing upside down... You see what I mean?" There was a pause. Joann did not really feel like talking today, or ever. "Joan... You're a soldier. It's obviously going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life, and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you greatly."

Dr Joann Watson smiled at this, almost scoffing inside at the notion. Since she had come home, she had literally _stayed_ at home. Except to go for walks to exercise the leg or go to the shops. Nothing appealed to her anymore, and people avoided her because she wanted to avoid them. She merely existed, passing through the busy streets like a ghost. Money was a problem too and who would hire her with what she had to offer. Not much. The chances of her life getting interesting were slim to none. Joann slowly reached up and tucked a little tuft of hair behind her ear, and made strong eye contact with the woman sitting opposite.

"'Everything that happens'?... Nothing happens to me."

_Fate? Step in when you're ready..._

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

**AN: **Thank you for reading, hoped you liked it. I know there isn't much happening yet, after all, it is like the start of it all so it's just warming up. Please tell me what you think, and if I get enough reviews, I will carry on. Thanks again and have a good day (or night) :)


	2. The Start of Something

**SHERLOCK - PINK, WRITTEN BY DR J WATSON**

**AN: **Hey everyone. I thought I might go a little further with the picture painting, since last chapter was just a prologue. Please review so I know what you think. I apologise for any mistakes I might have made. Thank you, Enjoy :)

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

**OCTOBER 12th**

_A man was out of work and on the phone to his 'secretary'._

_"What do you mean, there's no ruddy car?"_

_"He went to Waterloo, sorry. You'll have to get a cab..."_

_"You know I don't get cabs."_

_"...I love you," she had to whisper._

_"When?"_

_"Get. A. Cab," she giggled._

_That was the last she heard from him alive. The man was found dead at the top of an empty skyscraper. Next, the woman stood witnessing a hearing, as the man's wife chokingly spook of his supposed suicide._

_"My husband was a very happy man. He lived life to its fullest. He loved his family and his work, and that he should have taken his own life this way is a mystery and a sudden shock to all who knew him._

_The woman standing away from the cameras shed a tear she knew she shouldn't have._

**NOVEMBER 26th**

_Two teens walked down the dark street in heavy rain. One of the boys tried to flag down an available taxi that ignored them and drove on by._

_"I'll be two minutes, mate..."_

_"What?"_

_"Just running back home to get my umbrella." The boy was already drenched away._

_"But you can share mine-" The other boy with the brolly called out over the roar of the rain._

_"Just two minutes!"_

_The boy with the umbrella waited for that time and longer, but he never saw his friend alive again. The boy was found dead in a closed sports centre._

**JANUARY 27th**

_A party was being held in honour of a business woman's birthday. Her work colleagues kept an eye on her because she was so obviously drunk._

_"Is she still dancing?!"_

_"Yeah, if you call it dancing!"_

_"Did you get her car keys off her?"_

_"From her bag..." the woman waved the keys in front of them both._

_The woman in question had gone outside with the intention of driving home, not finding her keys. But when they looked around for her, she had vanished all the same. "Hang on, where is she?"_

_She was found dead in a remote building site._

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

At a Press hearing, Scotland Yard were giving a report about the recent deaths, where an average middle aged, mousey haired man named Lestrade sat idle to Sergeant Donovan reading out what they knew.

"The body of Beth Davenport, junior Minister for Transport, was found dead late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was a suicide, and we can confirm that this apparent one resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the lights of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take the questions you have now."

The room filled with snaps of cameras and shouts of the press, and arms waved in the air frantically like a class of school kids competing to answer a maths question.

"Detective Inspector," one man called out, "how can suicides be 'linked'?"

"They all took the same poison. They all were found in places they would have no reason to be in. None of them had shown any prior indication that-"

"But you can't have serial suicides, can you."

"Well, in terms of recent events, apparently you can."

Another reporter spoke out. "These three people, is there _anything_ that links them?"

"There's no link yet that we've found, but we are looking for it. There _has_ to be one." Then all at once, everyone's phone beeped and jingled, and they all went to answer their texts.

They all read '_Wrong!_'.

Sergeant Donovan received hers as well. "Err, if you have all just got texts, please ignore them. I know what they say, but please just ignore that." There were murmurs going around the room as the woman tried to talk above them. "If there are no more questions for the Detective Inspector, I'm going to bring this session to an end."

"If they are suicides, what exactly are you investigating then?"

Lestrade answered, "These suicides are clearly linked, like I said. It is an unusual situation, I admit, and we've got our best people on the case." More beeps from everyone's phones. '_Wrong!_'

"Only one more question now", the sergeant called out, trying to steer the subject away from the mysterious texter.

One more reporter raised their hand, "Is there a chance that these are murders? And if so, could it be a serial killer?"

"Look, I know you like to write about this, but they are suicides, as they appear. We do know the difference. The poison was clearly self-administered..."

"-But if they _are_ murders, how do people keep safe?"

"Well- don't commit suicide," Lestrade exclaimed. After a whisper from Donovan that who was addressing him was from the Daily Mail, he realised he would have to give more. "This is obviously a frightening time for people, but as usual all anyone has to do is take reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be-" BEEP!

'_Wrong!'_

Lestrade, one the other hand, got a different text: '_You know where to find me. SH_'. With a sigh, he thanked the press and left with the sergeant following closely after.

"You have got to stop him from doing that, " she said as they walked. "He's making us look bad."

"If you can tell him _how_ he's doing it, I will."

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

Joann limped through the park, wincing with every step and hating the feel of eyes on her. She felt ridiculous and weak. She shouldn't be disabled at her time of life. It's not like it existed anyway. Carrying on with her painful walk to nowhere in particular, she passed a chubby man sat on a bench near the path that she knew from a few years back before going off with the army.

He recognised her on sight though fortunately and called out as he got up.

"Joann? Joann! Doctor Watson!"

The woman in question turned to him in confusion as she struggled to place the face.

"Stamford? Mike Stamford. We were at St Barts together."

"Oh yes, sorry. Yes, Mike, hi," she took the hand outstretched to shake. "My god, um-"

The man chuckled "Yeah, yeah I know, I got fat. I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at, so what happened?"

Joann stared at him and silently gestured to the cane as if to politely say '_duuuh_'. "... I got shot."

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

A bit of time later and they were both sat on the park bench sipping coffee.

"Are you still at Barts then?"

"Yeah, I'm teaching now. Bright young things like you. Though these ones are worse. God I hate 'em." They laughed. "What about you then? Just staying here until you get sorted?"

"I can't afford London on my army pension..."

"And you couldn't be to be anywhere otherwise. That's not the Joann Watson I know."

"Yeah well, I'm not _her_ anymore..." she said deadpan as she looked own at her left hand, flexing it.

"Couldn't your Harry help?"

Joann scoffed "Yeah like that's going to happen."

"You could... I don't know, get a flatshare or something?"

"Oh come on, who'd have _me_ for a flatmate?"

This time her friend scoffed. Joann looked at him. Did he agree? "What is it?"

"You are the second person to say that to me today."

"Right... so who was the first?"

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

**AN: **Hoped you like this. Next time Joann will meet '_him_'. If I get enough encouragement that is. Please review so I know whether to go on or not. Ta, see ya :)


	3. First Meeting with the Man

**SHERLOCK - PINK, WRITTEN BY DR J WATSON**

**AN: **Hello everyone. Sorry this chapter was a bit late. The next one may be late too, I have loads of college work to be getting on with over Easter but I'll do my best to update as such as I can. Many thanks to everyone who has read the story so far, and thanks to the people who have reviewed and favourited it. I still would like more though :) let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

Meanwhile up in the morgue of St Bartholomew's Hospital, a tall handsome man with thick, dark wavy hair and distinguished cheekbones peered discerningly at a body as it lay on a cold slab inside a snug black bag. An averagely pretty young woman in a white lab coat stood idly by.

The man sniffed, "How fresh is he?"

"Just in," she replied. "67 years old, natural causes. I knew him, he used to work here actually. He was nice, friendly."

"Fine then," the man zipped the black bag back up and turned to the woman. "We'll start with the riding crop."

Few minutes later after a whipping frenzy on the poor corpse, the woman, slightly nervous, came into the room to join the man again. "So... bad day?" she joked.

The man ignored it. "I need to know what kind of bruises form in the next 20 minutes. A man's alibi depends on those results, text me."

"Listen," the woman blurted out while the man was busy writing notes, "I was wondering if you, maybe later when you're done- "

"You're wearing lipstick, you weren't wearing lipstick 5 minutes ago..."

The woman hesitated "... I- I err was, but I refreshed it."

_No, she didn't_. "Sorry, what were you saying?" He went back to his notes.

"I err was wondering if you would like to have some coffee..."

"Oh! Yes, black. Two sugars, please, I'll just be upstairs." He smiled and quickly left.

The poor woman stood there with just the corpse for company. "... okay then."

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

Now working upstairs, the man had made himself comfortable, very much at home using all the complicated lab equipment.

He was carefully dropping a chemical solution into a Petri dish when the heavy door of the lab opened to reveal two people. He looked up, he only needed a second to analyse who they were. One he already knew as Dr Stamford. The other...

A rather attractive, small, young woman with very lightly, naturally tanned skin (otherwise would be pale). Had short bob-cut sandy to dirty blonde hair. Wore a fashionable blue shirt under a rugged casual jacket. Walked in with a painful-looking limp aided by an ugly un-suiting cane.

She looked around the room in not so much awe, more grudging humbleness.

"Here we are then."

"Huh, well, it's changed quite a bit in a few years hasn't it... " she said

"Yeah, you have no idea!"

The man already in the room, completely undisturbed by their arrival, sat himself down. He didn't look up again. Doctor Joann Watson noticed him only when he spoke.

"Mike? Can I borrow your phone? Mine has no signal."

"What's wrong with using the landline?"

"You know I prefer to text..." The mysterious man's voice was deep with boredom, and roughened as if he'd been using it all day, at the same time not used enough. He was a pale man, with prominent bone work. He wore a smart casual suit and had tidy thick dark brown locks, yet unruly at the same time (if that was possible).

"Sorry," Mike replied, unapologetically. "It's in my coat." _But didn't he just-_

_Well, if he needs one..._

"Here," Joann got hold of her own mobile and held it out. "You can use mine."

"Oh..." The man finally looked up at Joann and his whole manner seemed to turn kinder as he got up to approach her. "Thank you." He clearly wasn't used to people _offering_ him use of their phones.

"Joann Watson, old friend of mine," Stamford introduced her, but not him. Joann gave the man her battered brick of a mobile with an exchange of smiles. The phone barely switched hands, fingers barely brushed eachother before the man already began tapping away, and came out with the most bizarre and random of questions.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

_Ay?!_

He once again had his eyes fixed on what he was texting.

It took a second for it to click in Joann's head what the man had just asked. But when she looked unsurely at Mike, and saw his knowing face... no, he definitely said it. But best to be sure...

"Err sorry?"

"Which was it, in Afghanistan or in Iraq?" He then looked her dead in the eyes curiously, before returning them to her phone. His eyes, she took in, were an icy blue.

Yes, she thought that's what he said. Why was Mike looking at her like that? What, did this stranger know about her already?!

Joann looked down and shuffled slightly from foot to foot, hand clenching on her crutch. "Err Afghanistan- sorry, but how did-"

Before she could finish, the door opened and a woman with tied up dark hair and wearing a lab coat toddled in. "Ah Molly. The coffee, thank you." The man exclaimed appreciatively as he handed Joann back her phone gently and took the cup off the other woman.

"What happened to the lipstick?" He noticed.

"Oh, err it wasn't working," she responded with a nervous smile.

The man walked away sipping his drink, "Really? I thought it was a big improvement, but your mouth's a bit too... small now". _Very confidently outspoken_.

"...okay." _Molly_ said and silently left. Joann felt a bit sorry for her.

The tall man, who had gone back to the table he was at when they arrived spoke, this time to Joann again.

"How do you feel about the violin?" He asked casually, if the question was a little out there on its own. That knowing look from Stamford again as he examined the contents of a syringe.

"What, sorry?"

"When I think, I often play the violin, sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would it bother you at all? Potential flatmates should know the worst about eachother." He gave her the most content, playful (and a little bit smug) smile.

Joann looked confused. "Err no? ... No, I- Have you told him about me?" she asked Stamford, feeling a little exposed and pride-stolen if he had.

"Not a word."

"Then who said anything about flatmates, sir?" She addressed the strange man again, who looked to be on the move, with his back to her and wrapping a high collar coat around himself, complete with scarf.

"I did. I told Mike earlier this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for who will put up with me. Now apparently here he is back again, just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. It wasn't that big a leap.

Joann looked down uncomfortably. This man was good. "Err how did you know about that? About Afghanistan?"

The man ignored her question. "Got my eyes on a nice little place in central London. We ought to be able to afford it together." He picked up his phone and began making his way towards the door. "We will meet there tomorrow evening, say seven o'clock. Sorry, I've got to dash. Think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

_Riding crop in the mortuary_?_... Don't ask._

This mind-boggling man walked closely past her and was about to open the door of the lab when Joann spoke, "Is that it then, sir?"

He turned back to her. "Is what it?" he asked, intrigued.

"Well, we've only just met, and we're already going to go look at a flat..."

The man shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stood daringly taller (if that were possible). "Problem?"

Joann scoffed and glanced at Mike again just to make sure this wasn't a prank he was playing on her for old time's sake.

"We don't know anything about eachother, I don't know where this 'nice little place' is, I don't even know your name, sir."

He looked down at her hard, as if reading her, but not to appear intimidating. "I know you are a young Army doctor and you have been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you have a rich brother and he's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him. Possibly because he's an alcoholic, or more likely because he recently left his wife. I also know your therapist thinks the limp you have is psychosomatic," His eyes lowered to her leg which made her shuffle on her feet more uncomfortably. _Please don't keep looking at it_. "-quite correctly, I'm afraid. And that's enough to go on with, don't you think?" He smiled at her and continued on his way out.

Joann stood there... stunned wasn't really a word to described how she felt. And he still had not told her his name.

Said man, turned to her again as he leant forward almost flirtatiously against the corner wall before the door.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon!" He winked and clicked his lips at her and nodded goodbye to Stamford. Then he was gone. Joann did _not_ blush.

Who or what was that?! The doctor looked at Stamford, who she had forgotten was there.

"Yep. He's always like that. You might as well get used to it." He said cheekily.

Get used to him? This _Sherlock Holmes_ man... this is going to be interesting, Joann thought, face still displaying her expression of awe as she shifted weight onto her leg, remembering her limp. Had she completely forgotten she had it?

**...~~PWBDJW~~...**

**AN: **Hoped you liked it. Please also review so I know what you think and if I should carry on.

**BTW **Did you hear about Sherlock series 3 starting filming. Exciting isn't it! Okay, I'll hopefully see you later, have a good morning/evening :)


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